


Make a wish, Frances

by faithfullyfrances



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Gen, Mentions of alcohol, Mentions of underage drinking, and that stars are pretty, backstory dot com, cider and nuns, set before they came to nonnatus house, sister frances thinks that space is cool, sister frances' birthday, sister hilda is a good friend, the mother house
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28365930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithfullyfrances/pseuds/faithfullyfrances
Summary: She wasn't supposed to feel this ache, this desire to be somewhere other than alongside her fellow Sisters. But on her eighteenth birthday, Sister Frances finds that what her head and heart want are quite different things. Night air and cider aim to soften the blow, as Sister Hilda encourages her to celebrate. Promising to keep her company through what is clearly a difficult evening, at they sit beneath the stars.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully this is well received!  
> I think the fact that Frances joined the Order so young is a really interesting part of her character, and definitely something worth exploring :)

Sister Frances had laid awake restlessly for some time, the metal frame of the bed harsh beneath the thin mattress. 

She wasn’t particularly good at sleeping at the best of times, often wide awake to hear the grandfather clock chiming well into the small hours. The big hand of the clock made the gentlest of ticking sounds, but in the dead of night Sister Frances likened it to the thud of a drum.

Sometimes it was the fear of bad dreams that kept her clinging to consciousness, sometimes it was the reservations that had been allowed to cloud her judgement throughout the day - every little mistake magnified by the silence. 

Tonight, it was wariness. 

This day could’ve been memorable, rather than the same repetitive monotony that she’d come to appreciate as routine. Never one to create a fuss, she’d been content to duck her head and accept her duties for what they were - adhere to expectations.

It wasn’t quite that she regretted this submission now, no. Routine was what she favoured, predictability was safer than anything that she’d ever known. But still, it nagged at her. 

Everything that she’d given up to pursue this life of servitude, of dedication to Him, it felt so much bigger when darkness fell and she was left alone to wonder.

And wonder, she did.

Bundled up under the covers, the duvet pulled tightly up to her chin. She recalled the events of the day. It had been normal, frustratingly normal. 

She’d worked, she’d prayed, she’d tried desperately to forget the day’s significance.

She’d tried in vain.

Though she hadn’t been expecting anything different, the truth about today’s significance was buried deep in her personal files. Stored somewhere in the Mother Superior’s office, somewhere on a bookshelf or in a crowded drawer, hidden away. 

Paperwork still crisp and neatly pressed from when they’d completed her documents and stored her personal possessions some months ago. She’d never had to sign her name on an official document before, her signature completed with shaking hands and smudgy ink.

Biting back a yawn, she tried to push this memory aside. 

Sister Frances shuffled back and positioned herself so that she was propped up by her elbows, craning her neck to catch a glimpse beyond the confines of the miniscule sleeping quarters that had been designated to her.

A gap in the curtains, revealing two tranquil rows of sleeping nuns. Or ‘an opportunity’, as she perceived it.

Silent as a mouse, she swung her legs to the side (found her slippers with ease) and stood up. Pausing only to grab her dressing gown and pull it swiftly on. The curtain made a muted swishing sound as she pulled it back along the rail, and stepped out.

She cast a final glance behind her at the space above her bed, where her crucifix hung protectively. Wood was strong and she believed infinitely in its power. In His.

_“Stay with me, please God. I don’t think I’m strong enough to do this alone.”_

Her whisper was almost silent, and she could only pray that He had heard her plea.

She knew exactly which floorboards would creak, having studied the strength of the pallets with some interest. It was with some façade of elegance that she padded across the room, mindful of the symphony of snores and snuffles that were masked only by the (practically sheer) fabric of the bed-surrounding curtains. 

Doors were a luxury that the Sisters of St Raymond Nonnatus weren’t afforded, as for walls, well they could dream on.

Frances knew that to wake one nun would be to wake thirty, and she kept this in mind as she slipped out of the dormitory and into the corridor beyond. As she drifted through the labyrinth of hallways, she took care to remain quiet. 

Intent on reaching the fresh air of the back porch, she failed to anticipate that another was capable of moving with a similar level of discretion.

Her cautious footsteps were being copied some distance back, as a fellow Sister followed the young girl. Curiosity accompanied by a protective instinct, as they hastened to the sweet release of the night air.

-

-

-

The convent’s corridors had become familiar to Frances, she had travelled along them enough times. Therefore she had reached her destination with some speed, only stalled slightly by momentary reconsideration of her plan.

This had been quickly overturned by her more pressing desire to feel connected to something bigger than herself. 

To see the stars, to be reminded of the world beyond the Mother House.

The back door of the kitchen led directly to a strip of concrete, a small set of steps - all leading to the much attended garden. Carefully kept flowerbeds, vegetable patches, and most importantly: space to think.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she pushed the back door open, using her shoulder for leverage, and the cold air kissed her brow.

It was a freeing feeling, when the hem of her dressing gown wafted ever so slightly under the influence of the light breeze. She cherished it. This moment of solitude, of peace. The night sky her shelter, her respite.

Just Ursa Minor there to keep her company, shining her enviable light.

Until.

Oh, until.

-

Sister Hilda kept her distance, fearful of startling the younger girl in front of her. 

She heard a wistful sigh, and observed the cloud of exhaled breath that made itself visible in the crisp night air - the garden landscape merely a background for the young novice’s night time expedition.

Both nuns were dressed identically: dressing gowns conserving warmth, white caps concealing their hair and simple slippers adorning tired feet. 

Though Sister Hilda’s socks were darker and had faced the darning needle several times over, a faded contrast to the pure white cotton of Frances’. A clear distinction between the novices and the more senior nuns.

_“Bless her little cotton socks,” Sister Hilda thought to herself._

Her gaze was fixed skywards, and with some hesitation Sister Hilda gave a slight cough. Clearing her throat seemed like as good a conversation starter as any other.

“Ahem,” she coughed somewhat cautiously.

Sister Frances jumped what must have been at least a foot in the air, letting out a gasp loud enough to spook some birds which had been perched in an overhanging tree. They flapped their wings in a disgruntled manner, before flying away and across the lawn.

Frances quickly spun around, face illuminated by the moon, looking very much like a deer in headlights.

“Oh my goodness Sister Hilda, I didn’t hear you,” the younger of the two managed to rasp, still noticeably taking deep breaths in an attempt to recover from the shock.

She looked embarrassed, eyes immediately apologetic.

“Yes, awfully sorry about that. One never does _quite_ know when the _appropriate_ moment to interrupt a forbidden night time adventure is.”

The elder woman felt immediately guilty when Frances’ face dropped, as a panicked frown made itself known. And profuse apologies started spilling out, heavy and raw. Sister Hilda could honestly say that she hadn’t seen the girl more worked up in all of the time that she’d been living with them, though of course her first night was the exception. It always was.

“Please, no need to apologise to _me_. I’m not _exactly_ a stranger to breaking the rules myself, and besides - you’re young. If you didn’t break the rules from time to time then there wouldn’t be much point in it all. Would there?”

Sister Frances just stared, baffled. Mouth still agape from where her string of apologies had been cut off, midway through her sixth ‘sorry’.

After a moment she collected herself, reassured by the sincere look that was being directed at her. Sister Hilda didn’t lie, not to her. If she said that it wasn’t grounds for a formal reprimand, then she would trust her. 

“Thank you,” began Sister Frances, growing steadily calmer as her superior gave a gentle nod. “I - I know I shouldn’t be outside, or out of bed at all. So stupid of me to even think I’d get away with it. That’s me all over though I suppose. I just, I couldn’t sleep and everything was just so _loud_ , in my head I mean. Couldn’t think, couldn’t sleep. I just _really_ needed to get some air, especially after today-”

She carried on this lengthy explanation, seemingly unaware of how fervently Sister Hilda was shaking her head, fighting to get a word in amongst the jumble of self deprecating admonishments and sad admittances.

“B-but I really am sorry, again. I just. The sky was, and I-”

“Sister Frances,” interrupted her companion, finally having had enough of the disjointed spillage of words. Only some of them making any kind of sense.

Getting a straight answer from this girl was like trying to untangle your fairy lights at Christmas time, forever second guessing herself. Wires knotted and light dimmed by doubt.

“Yes?” breathed the younger girl, a little flushed after all of that.

“Please just take a deep breath,” Hilda encouraged, nodding in approval as her brow unfurrowed and her chest rose steadily up and down. “You really don’t owe _me_ any kind of explanation, the only reason that I followed you _at all_ was because I was _concerned_ for you. It’s not like you to go wandering off, least of all when it’s pitch black outside.”

Though her words said otherwise, her eyes held an enquiring look - searching for some sliver of truth from the girl. This really was dreadfully out of character.

“I know, and I never _normally_ would. Really, I promise Sister. Today has just been… rather a lot. And I’ve always found that the night sky has a sort of calming effect. And the stars, they’re beautiful. Not that I usually get the chance to see them, what with our day being so,” she paused to think of an appropriate word. “Structured.”

“You say ‘today’ as though it involved some kind of catastrophe? What am I missing here. The convent is still standing, there hasn’t been any disaster that I’ve been made aware of. Did something ha-”

“Nothing,” rushed Sister Frances. Immediately clamming up, hugging her arms close to her chest, suddenly thankful for the warmth that her dressing gown provided. It would account for the deep flush that was heating up her cheeks, odd - for such a cold evening.

Sister Hilda thought for a moment, trying not to let the extent of her doubt make itself physically apparent. Be tactful, and be kind. 

“If you say so. Though if there was something truly amiss, then I hope you know that my hypothetical door is _always_ open,” Sister Hilda took considerable care to stress this point.

A silent nod in return, as the novice beside her avoided eye contact. Favouring the milky way over yet another look of concern. Sympathy without rhyme nor reason, it wasn’t exactly a medicine that she desired.

“Don't be too late back, will you. And please, be careful. Oh and when you’re coming back into the dormitory, do try to avoid the -”

“The creaky steps. I will, don’t worry. I’ve got the untrustworthy ones memorised,” she looked almost bashful at this confession, shoulders impossibly tensed.

“Of course, _there’s_ the responsible Sister Frances that we all know and love.”

“Of course,” repeated the novice. “Where else would I be.” 

-  
-  
-

Definitely not on one of the far away planets that she was gazing so longingly at. Wistful eyes slightly misty as she wondered just what they’d be like to visit. 

The freedoms that she’d have, the lack of restraint that she could show. Habit ditched in favour of a less rigid regime. Choice, safety that she wouldn’t have to trade her life for.

It was truly a mystery to Frances, how anyone could know about the unexplored realms above their planet, and not be entirely mystified by the secrets and possibilities that space had to offer.

She was content there, in the shadowed garden of the convent. Having stolen a few precious minutes in which to dream. Not the kind of dream that came with sleep, where it was out of your control and any amount of sweetness could be masking a buried terror from your subconscious.

Dreaming, thinking, imagining. 

All were better while awake. Dictating her own train of thought, letting herself drift skywards. The stars her playground, with none of the restrictions, none of the shackles that her earthly existence burdened her with.

She felt Sister Hilda’s hand brush against her shoulder, just for a moment. Before she retracted, seemingly about to leave Sister Frances to her mysterious ponderings - trusting the calming properties of the night sky to work their magic.

Retreating footsteps were heavy against the concrete.

Until they weren’t.

Steady indicators of movement ceased, and Frances snapped her focus back to the other woman’s frame. Confused at her sudden stop. 

The elder woman had come to rest in the kitchen doorway, one palm flat on the doorframe, the other having flown to the side of her head - a realisation hitting her like a ton of bricks.

-

_Today._

_Its significance was suddenly glaringly obvious._

_The reason behind the sudden increase in those fragile, forlorn looks. Staring out of the front windows when she thought nobody was watching, like a lost child waiting to be picked up._

_How could she have forgotten, when just a few months ago it had been Sister Hilda who’d brought Frances in from the cold. Stayed with her through all of that first night’s turmoil, and eventually watched her fill in the paperwork that bound her to the Order._

_The paperwork._

_The date._

-

Spinning around with a rapid impulse of decisiveness, Sister Hilda met Sister Frances’ puzzled look with one of painful realisation. 

“Today.”

“Today,” repeated Frances, studying Sister Hilda’s facial expression with a concentrated fixation. Apprehension already creeping into her tone, lacing her words with an overwhelming sense of fear.

“Today is your-”

“Really Sister Hilda it’s nothing importa-” fought the younger of the two.

“Today is your birthday, I remember now,” finished the nun. 

Frances froze, biting her lip in lieu of a verbal admission. She wasn’t sure what was making her so fearful of reinforcing her fellow Sister’s correct remembrance.

Her own personal feelings were complicated as it was, without the added pressure to conceal personal information that came with the habit. Telling personal anecdotes was a habit that her superior Sisters were keen for her to kick, not that she’d ever been especially forthcoming before she’d made the decision to take holy orders. 

But still.

-

Sister Frances broke their locked gaze, feeling rather like something that you might peer at through binoculars. Scrutiny was never especially fun. She chose instead to adjust her footing, turning to face away from the convent (and Sister Hilda) once more. 

Comfort in darkness, comfort in a lack of clarity.

And yet inevitably, a second later there was another body beside hers. Pressing. Waiting for a confirmation.

“It's your birthday today, isn't it,” prompted Sister Hilda. 

They didn't make eye contact, both opting to stare into the darkness, unsure of what protocol to follow. 

Slowly, Sister Frances nodded her head, as though she didn't really want to commit to an answer. 

It was a response at least, one for which Sister Hilda was exceedingly grateful.

“How old are you then?” she continued to probe. “I suppose you'll be matching me for wrinkles any day now.”

Frances paused, wary of revealing too much. Wondering what _was_ or _wasn't_ acceptable conversation with fellow religious Sisters. There were rules, _even_ under the cover of dark. 

“I’m eighteen today,” she said rather reluctantly. Fearful of the wistful tone that was likely to overshadow her diligence. 

Silence fell, and Frances looked up to the sky. 

~~~

She had read stories in the newspaper, heard speculations throughout her school years. People venturing guesses as to what coated the skies every night, delivering twinkling stars and filling observers with awe. 

Adults had always kept their cards close to their chests on that matter. As though it was some kind of universal agreement to keep the universe a mystery, only unveiling the truth once you had reached a certain age. 

She had been patient, ignoring the ache of longing that weighed heavy in her chest, as she had spent cosy evenings staring at the sky. Back home, before.

Along with a handful of like minded schoolmates, Frances had gazed into the atmosphere, they were stargazers. Laying together in the back meadows, safe in the knowledge that they weren't expected home until late. Pointing and exclaiming as each glimmer of light became brighter still, enthusing about all of the possibilities that the world and beyond held for them. 

Onomatopoeia scattered across the grass as thickly as the buttercups and dandelions. 

Blades of green had tickled her ears, while the wind blew unruly stray hairs in her line of vision. The lines mimicking shooting stars, as they theorised what such a star might look like close up. 

They had been so close, too close maybe. Happy and unapologetically giddy under the influence of ‘borrowed’ bottles of apple cider. 

A benefit of growing up in a small village, everyone knew everyone, and one of your friends _always_ knew the owner of the local public house. 

Picturing themselves as thieves in the night, daring and impulsive, as they sent the bravest of the bunch to _The Grey Goose_ to raid the back storeroom. 

(He had a Saturday job behind the bar, and had been promoted to the full time staff a few weeks before Frances had left. She'd been rather proud of him, if a little envious of the opportunities he’d been afforded.) 

More than once, during these nights of companionship under the swirls of indigo and royal blue, Frances had found herself asking questions that strayed from the subject of astronomy. 

As a warm hand has slipped into her own cold one. Fingers interlocking as the moon smiled down at them, too young to think about possible implications. Too tipsy to think through the consequences of how desperately she wanted Marie’s hand to stay joined to hers. 

Youth made you feel invincible, and this didn't fade - only amplified by laughter and slight inebriation. 

~~~

“Sometimes I forget how young you novices are,” commented Sister Hilda. “Just eighteen.”

The words grabbed Frances by the arm, like an icy fist closing around her wrist. Jolting her back from memory lane, the strange thing was, it didn't feel long enough ago to be classed as a memory. 

“Sorry Sister Hilda, I missed that,” murmured the younger girl, eyes still transfixed on the skies above. 

“Look at me, come on pet.”

Frances heard a shift of fabric beside her, as the taller figure concentrated her gaze more firmly on her distant companion. Obliging, she met this imploring stare. 

“Eighteen,” sighed Sister Hilda. “You're so young, _too_ young to be standing alone in a garden at midnight. Half a country away from your home.”

“ _This_ is my home now, _you_ said it would be.”

There's a look of fear, dancing across her features - as though the stability that she'd found here could be snatched away any moment. 

Like the habit and wimple weren't enough of a concrete promise. 

“I just mean that-,” hastened Sister Hilda. 

“Please Sister, _please_. You said it'd all be alright. That first day, you said that you get young girls showing up on the doorstep all the time.”

“Sister Frances,” said the elder woman softly. Grasping shaking hands with her steadier pair. “You're safe here, nobody's taking this away from you. Following the calling of God is neither mine, nor Mother Jesu Emanuel’s to comment on.”

“Really?” 

Frances manages to say it, unsure as to why this was surfacing now. Today. Her voice was weak and her confidence thoroughly shaken. 

“Of course really, I don't think the Lord would think too highly of us turfing you out now would he?”

Frances managed a weary laugh at that, sounding much older than her eighteen years. 

“I suppose not. Sorry, I don't know where all of _that_ came from. I didn't mean to,” she trailed off, apology hanging in the air like a half fallen meteor. 

On the brink of something. 

Dangerous, thought provoking, intriguing. 

“It’s okay, I know that the religious life doesn’t exactly advocate sharing one’s personal feelings. But I think that today might be the exception to the rule,” reasoned Sister Hilda gently.

Frances offered a ‘hmm’ of agreement, deciding that there might actually be a smidgen of truth in Sister Hilda’s words.


	2. Chapter 2

Maybe God was fulfilling her earlier request, having heard her prayer before she’d left her quarters.

_“Stay with me, please God. I don’t think I’m strong enough to do this alone.”_

Had he truly heard her, listened to the shake in her voice. 

Felt the uneasiness in her soul.

The passing of time was loud, it ached through your very being. Much louder than the tick of even the most ancient grandfather clock. It tore you apart and forced you to look at what you’d achieved, where you had ended up.

How had you spent the eighteen years that you had been gifted with? Was He proud?

Were you wasting your days, psalms and religious devotions overshadowed by childish desires. The longing that couldn’t be ignored, when your hands were cold and unheld and your spirits were dampened by the reminder that you weren’t going to feel that same closeness ever again.

The soft leather of her Bible was what typically filled her palm now, physical and omnipresent in a way that human contact never was. She’d clung to it, the security that religion offered. All but chaining herself to the Mother House’s chapel.

Frances felt the hairs on her forearms stand on end, as goosebumps littered her skin. 

Yet somehow the damning cold was kept at bay.

Was it God? Cocooning her in strong arms, or the presence of her fellow Sister - her ‘concern’ manifesting into warmth. Snaking around her shoulders like a blanket, offering a promise of togetherness, through this night.

This milestone. 

A hand on her shoulder, banishing the chill from her very bones.

-  
-  
-

It was Sister Hilda who once again undertook the role of breaking the fallen quiet.

“I think we might’ve gotten the _teensiest_ bit sidetracked there, gosh I didn’t even remember the most important part.” 

Frances looked at her blankly, not holding out hope for what most teenage girls would regard as a ‘proper celebration’. Though the words that followed had been more than she’d even thought of hoping for, hours before when she’d slipped into bed.

“Happy birthday!” exclaimed Hilda, as though it was the most obvious choice of phrase in the world. This was accompanied by a humbling clap on the back. 

“In the absence of an appropriate greetings card, I can only offer you the most sincere of good wishes - but I want you to know, _really_ know, that I do mean them. There’s a whole convent’s worth of people who care about you Sister, who wish that you’d share your burdens with us. However long that takes, remember our love in the meantime.”

Her words were genuine, and in the absence of other sounds, Frances fancied that she could actually hear the soft thud of her companion’s heart. Its beat steady, matching the strength and conviction of Hilda’s statement.

They left Frances blinking back tears, overwhelmed by the outpouring of emotion. 

Of sincerity.

“Thank you, Sister Hilda,” Frances smiled, overcome with a sense of belonging that life had taught her to cherish. “Really, thank you so much.”

The enthusiastic grin and nod that she got in return for her verbalised gratitude were wonderful. The most special things always did seem to happen under the cover of night, 

Frances wasn’t sure why. But she cherished it regardless.

“Actually,” burst out the senior nun. “I might have the perfect thing for an eighteenth birthday present. Just you wait,” her tone had jumped. Energy now coursing through her veins, as she made a beeline for the kitchen door behind them.

-  
-  
-

“Don’t get your hopes up, but,” she began, Hilda’s voice became muffled as disappeared into the kitchen. 

Ever obedient, Frances hurried along behind her. Mindful of how the rest of the convent was deep in slumber, she was cautious to not let her slippers squeak on the kitchen tiles.

“Are we allowed to be in here?” Frances whispered, her determination to follow rules catching up with her. “Sister Hilda,” she whispered again, slightly more panicked as she watched the other woman jiggle the handle of the pantry door.

Along with some fairly dramatic arm gestures, indicating that she should stay put, Sister Hilda issued a rather firm ‘shh’ to her worried accomplice.

“What are you doing?” Frances all but mimed, heeding the warning to be quiet. 

With a triumphant creak, the pantry door fell open and (after a celebratory punch of the crisp air) Hilda slipped inside. Leaving Frances stood beside the kitchen table, feeling very much like an unwitting burglar, she fumbled with her hands, unsure of what to anticipate.

The younger girl was about to call out again, thoroughly worried by the series of mild clatters and crashes that were seeping out from the sizable storeroom. Quite clearly she could hear various foodstuffs being moved around. Definitely some jars, hopefully not the jam, and Frances was convinced that she’d just heard a bag of flour fall to the ground with a resounding thud.

Rather inexplicably a groan of ‘eurgh pickles’ came tumbling through the doorway, eliciting a chuckle from the observer, and earning her a playful glare once the perpetrator emerged.

Well, poked her head around the door at least.

“And what are _you_ laughing at, eh birthday girl?” grumbled Sister Hilda, nose still wrinkled from what must have been a rather unpleasant encounter with some pickles. “Or, I suppose I should say birthday woman. Given that today is the big day.”

“Sorry,” replied Frances, her tone hushed but not quite serious enough, unable to mask a further giggle.

Just happy with the fact that her escapade had brought a smile to the younger woman’s face, Sister Hilda shook her head in amusement. Living in a convent wasn’t usually a bundle of laughs, especially for the younger novices, with their heads so full of new teachings and scriptures. As she recalled her own entrance to the order, it did feel very psalm heavy, and oh how she’d clung to glimmers of happiness. 

A rarity after the war, and she could only speculate about what was causing such bleakness for the young women who had joined their order in recent years. At least in this case, she hoped to remedy it, even if it was just for tonight.

“You’re quite alright my dear, now back out the door before somebody comes down to see what all of the racket’s about,” Hilda punctuated her final words with a smirk, still half cloaked by the pantry’s dark expanse.

Following her superior’s guidance (now accompanied by some fairly dramatic shoo-ing gestures) Frances departed the building. Arriving back on the concrete steps behind the convent, breathing heavily now that she was safely out of the ear shot of sleeping nuns.

Her cheeks were flushed, and she couldn’t help but gape when another figure burst through the door.

“Why were you in the pantry?” questioned Sister Frances, energised and feeling almost bold as a result of their late night sneaking around - in a convent no less.

Sister Hilda’s eyes held a knowing glint, amplified by the shine from the night sky above.

Hands remaining suspiciously behind her back.

“Well, Sister Frances, I can tell you I had a _very_ good reason indeed. In fact, I think you’ll be _amazed_ by what our little adventure has resulted in.”

“I -”

She was cut off by a theatrical ‘ta-da’, as Sister Hilda revealed what she’d pinched from the pantry, proudly stretching her arms out in front of her.

Two bottles of apple cider.

“Oh my,” Frances barely managed to stop herself from blaspheming on the steps of a convent. Quite possibly the worst place that one could even think of blaspheming.

Sister Hilda didn’t even fight to contain the glowing smirk that was erupting across her cheeks, too impressed that she’d actually been able to pull it off.

“So, are you amazed?”

“Most definitely,” enthused the younger woman. Eagerly grasping the offered bottle, she stared in wonder at the senior nun.

Shaking her head in disbelief, Frances leaned down slightly to polish off some lingering dust on the bottle with the hem of her dressing gown. When she looked back up, she saw that Sister Hilda had already popped the lid off of her own bottle, and was now offering the bottle opener to her friend.

(If you weren’t friends after an event like this, then when were you?)

“Thank you,” exclaimed Frances, breaking her shocked eye contact to ease the metallic cap from her own drink.

“You’re very welcome,” bounced back Hilda, as though it was the most normal interaction she’d had all day.

“Do you mind me asking where you got the bottle opener? I mean, I doubt that it’s Mother Jesu Emanuel’s,” the younger woman paused suddenly, eyes lighting up. “Oh my word, _is_ it Mother Jesu’s? No surely it’s not. Unless -”

“No Sister, I’m rather afraid it’s _mine_ ,” squawked Hilda, through an irrepressible guffaw. 

(She was being offered cider on the back steps of a convent in the middle of the night, after just having raided the pantry. And yet, this girl was enquiring after her purloining a bottle opener? The mind boggles.)

Frances just stared for a moment, the glass bottle cold against her palm, before shrugging her shoulders in acceptance. Anything was possible after what she had just witnessed, and she was hardly going to start questioning the nun now. Not with a drink in her hand, and a smile pulling at the corners of her lips.

Eyes twinkling, Sister Hilda gave a bit of context.

“I remembered that we’d purchased a crate one year, a prize from an Easter Fete in the nearby village. Naturally the Sister’s didn’t have much use for the alcohol, but wanted to support the cause that the Fete was in aid of. So the bottles were kept mainly for travellers passing through, or weary vicars who’d rather have their own company whilst lodging with us.”

Frances just gaped, awestruck. 

“In fact,” continued Sister Hilda, absorbed by nostalgia. “The wooden crate that the cider came in is currently being used as an umbrella stand in the main hallway. Just by the door. You’ve probably passed it a hundred times and never realised. In all honesty, I’d quite forgotten myself until this evening.”

“Wow,” murmured Frances, inhaling the rich scent of apple that was coming from the amber coloured bottle in her grasp.

“Wow indeed,” returned the elder woman, nodding her head rather proudly.

_It reminded her of the stolen evenings of her youth, when the cider had been musty, made ten times more delicious by the knowledge that it was quite literally forbidden fruit. At the tender age of seventeen, with each sip of fruity bubbles taking the edge off more and more._

_Until tongues became loose, morals even more so._

_She thought briefly of the time that Marie had kissed her cheek, so very tenderly one night as they were walking home. Just the once, on that winding back lane, their hands interlocked for what felt like an eternity._

_She closed her eyes now, desperate to spend a little longer inside that memory. Feeling the wind chasing around her, as both her and Marie’s hair had been blown wildly around them. How a stand of Marie’s had rested on her friend’s nose, and the gentle way that Frances had tucked it behind her ear. Always kind, always chivalrous. Before continuing the walk back home, letting the winding tarmac guide them._

Shaken from this wistful train of thought, Frances’ eyes shot up. A fierce glugging sound from her companion, as she took a hearty gulp.

“Are you sure we won’t get into trouble Sister Hilda?” asked Frances, slightly apprehensive about being intoxicated on holy ground.

“Well,” began Sister Hilda, pausing to swallow a hiccup. “I wouldn’t go boasting about it to the other novices, but just this once I don’t think it’ll hurt. Besides, I’ve yet to meet a single soul who’s spent their eighteenth birthday sober.”

Smiling at this reassurance, and already feeling impulsive after such an adrenaline filled fifteen minutes, the younger woman lifted the bottle to her lips. The cold glass neck was oddly soothing against still flushed skin.

Before she could take a sip, Sister Hilda called out suddenly.

“Wait wait. Tradition must be followed Sister,” stretching out her hand with a girlish grin.

Expectant.

“Cheers!”

“Cheers!” returned Sister Frances, grinning at the sound of clinking glass, then finally taking her first swallow.

Just a taste, the slightest quantity. And yet it tasted like a whole orchard.

There was comfort in familiarity, and that small sip was quickly followed by an eager swig. Letting go of any lingering reservations, and losing herself in the delightful fizz of the bubbles on her tongue. The warmth from the alcohol filling her with a sense of homeliness that she hadn’t felt in many years. Of belonging to something beautiful.

They might not have been stargazers, but they were still something worth drinking to.

-

Twenty minutes later, their bottles had been emptied to the last drop.

(Sister Hilda had checked this quite thoroughly, much to Sister Frances’ amusement.)

The tell tale bottles had been stashed in an agreeable rose bush, not the most inconspicuous of hiding places, but still better than leaving the evidence in plain sight. At least that was what the elder of them reasoned, leaving the younger woman to wonder if this was something of a regular occurrence for her friend.

They had sunk to the ground some minutes ago, choosing the concrete steps as seats over the benches that were worryingly close to the convent’s windows. 

Sister Hilda was tempted to argue that the reasoning had been wholly practical, survival instincts advising them to keep out of sight. Lest they be ambushed by a sleepwalking nun, one who probably wouldn’t be too impressed to find a novice and a senior nun in a less than sober state.

But realistically, it was because Frances had slumped down some time ago. Alcohol making her sleepy, and definitely _not_ enthusiastic about tempting fate by flaunting her intoxication too close to the house of God.

The stone steps were cold beneath them, protected by blessedly thick dressing gowns and the sheer emboldening capabilities of fairly strong apple cider.

It was quite peaceful really, with just the flowerbeds and the night sky for company. The garden’s serene quality unimpeded by herds of bustling habits to-and-froing from chapel.

The two women had become close on this eve, while they truly had been thieves in the night (or at least one of them had been, the other fulfilling the role of inadvertent accomplice).

The younger girl had fallen into the older woman’s side some moments ago, eyes once again fixed on the sprinkling of sparkling lights that embellished the deep dark expanse above. She felt safe there, with a gentle arm around her shoulder, a promise that she wouldn’t have to spend this night alone.

Maybe a mentor figure, a nun at that, wasn’t typical company for an eighteenth birthday, but for Frances, it couldn’t have felt more right. More safe, as she braved the years to come furnished with a definite memory that she’d spent her transition to womanhood - firstly not sober, and secondly: beside someone whom she’d grown to feel comfortable with.

Warm on what was undoubtedly a cold night. 

Bright under the cloak of darkness.

Secure, protected under the wing of a steady mentor - a friend.

-

Sister Hilda had seen many women arrive at the Mother House over the years. Some looking for spiritual enrichment, some looking for answers and some looking to join their Order.

It wasn’t often that they admitted someone who was seeking all three.

Let alone a slight girl of seventeen. Arriving on the convent’s doorstep in the middle of Compline, windswept and bone-tired from a relentless journey. 

They had all felt a sense of responsibility, as they always did when they received a girl so young. Scared and searching, for anything but the trials that had pushed her to knock on their door. 

Sister Hilda had been the one to open the front door, having sprinted from the chapel to welcome their visitor in from the cold. Sister Hilda had been the one to wrap a blanket around the shivering child’s shoulders, offering a handkerchief and an abundance of soothing words. 

Soft murmurings that promised safety and respite within these walls.

And she didn’t break promises.

Never.

Even when her fellow Sisters had gradually lost interest, concentrating on their own duties, and other (less worrisome) new arrivals. Even through sighs and tears and those frustratingly distant glances that transported her charge to somewhere far beyond the Order’s jurisdiction. Sister Hilda had maintained a watchful eye.

The war had taught her a great deal, shown her things that many people could only imagine. Though such imaginings were inevitably monochrome, not the vivid technicolour that made itself known through the darkest and most persistent of war-born nightmares.

Never take your eye off of the ball, or in this case the nun. 

Be patient, be kind, and be careful.

And _always_ carry a bottle opener because you never knew when you’d have an occasion to participate in a celebratory drink.

All five had been practised tonight, and Sister Hilda was thoroughly glad that she’d kept up this gentle observation for all of these months.

Even more glad that she had a good memory for dates, especially those outlined on Convent issued paperwork.

Else she’d have been asleep, taunted by glaring reminders of her war-torn country. While the girl nestled into her shoulder would’ve been standing alone in the cold, spending one of her life’s most significant milestones sober and with a sore deficit of companions.

Hearing a slight mumble from the girl beside her, Sister Hilda had turned her attention to the huddled body.

“What was that poppet,” she questioned, lightly nudging Frances’ side.

“Thanks for the cider, and for the birthday advet-, adventure,” she stumbled, words slurring slightly. “It’s been really, properly brilliant.”

“You’re _most_ welcome, as long as Mother Jesu _never_ hears a word of it, okay?”

A nod in the affirmative.

“Fantastic, now I think we really ought to go back to the dormitory.”

A shaken head, creating a quiet rustle as her cap shook.

“Five more minutes Sister, please?”

Sister Hilda looked up, once again appreciating the beautiful display of stars tonight. Momentarily enthralled by how clear and unobstructed their view was, given that the convent was several miles from the nearest town.

“Okay. Five more minutes, then back to bed,” she conceded.

Purple might be a nice shade for the sky’s twilight glow, but she had no desire to see rings of deep purple under Sister Frances’ eyes tomorrow.

Though this delay proved fruitful, as a few moments later Sister Hilda rather urgently shook the younger girl off of her shoulder. She’d been surprised at first, jostled from a place of great comfort, but upon following her friend’s trained gaze she found that any confusion quickly dissipated.

-

It was almost too good to be real, but right there in the skies above Chichester, the pair of them were witnessing something magical.

“Make a wish Frances”, whispered Sister Hilda.

Reaching upwards and tracing the path of the shooting star with a pointed finger, Hilda guided the birthday girl. 

It was majestic, and filled the younger woman with a confidence - the like of which had been a stranger for some time.

“I wish I could see Marie again, I miss her so much,” mumbled Frances, almost inaudibly as her head fell onto Sister Hilda’s shoulder.

The words were difficult to make out, but Sister Hilda didn’t press. Having understood the gist.

_“Loose lips sink ships.”_

Another wartime momento, one that holy orders had taught Sister Hilda to cherish.

So instead she offered a quiet understanding, gently holding the smaller girl, still with one arm draped around her shoulder. She gave a reassuring squeeze, one that offered the same security and promise of safety as before. 

She had once promised this young woman that she would be safe here, with her. 

This was a promise that she intended to keep, and so she reiterated this in the only way she knew how.

A silent prayer as she held her fellow Sister close, not fighting it as she clung just a fraction tighter to her mentor’s secure embrace. Before gently helping her to her feet, guiding stumbled words and only slightly unsteady feet back to the communal dormitory.

Ensuring that the slight girl, or rather the woman was tucked up in bed. On the cusp of sleep with any lingering secrets buried well behind delicate lips. 

For all of the night’s excitement, both good and bad, she had looked at peace - eyelids drifting closed under Sister Hilda’s watchful gaze.

With a deep breath and the swish of a curtain, Sister Hilda had left Sister Frances to sleep, returning to her own quarters. At the far end of the opposite row of beds.

The senior nun knelt at the foot of the bed, speeding through her nightly prayers as she thanked the cider for acting as an ample anaesthetic to the ache in her knees against the hard wooden floor. 

Tonight, before she stood, she added a few extra words. Saying then almost silently, but in a sincerely heartfelt tone of voice. Meaning every word.

“May the Lord protect her, and keep her safe from harm. Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope this made for a good read! and feedback would be appreciated muchly <3


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